


Down in Ashes

by mssdare



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angry Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Hiding, Hux is Not Nice, Hux is a little shit, Hux-centric, I might have overtagged this, If You Squint - Freeform, Injury, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Snow, Stranded, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, but hux does say "no"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: Hux was about to launch his rescue shuttle, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He pressed his forehead to the cool steel console, telling himself to let go, to stop this madness, to not let his kriffing infatuation, this obsession over Kylo Ren that he’d ordered himself years ago not to feel, overtake him.





	Down in Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



> Dear Filigranka!  
> I love your way of seeing Hux and how you make me cry for this beautiful, broken and intelligent monster, and how you don't shy away from how awful (even if for a reason) both Hux and Ren are. I couldn't go as "dark" as your stories sometimes do, because my mind lately is in some idiotically sweet place, but I tried to make it as canon and in character as I could! :)
> 
> I hope that you'll like it - I wish you the best of Holidays and hug you tight! <3
> 
> (Many thanks to my beta for a super speedy help - you are my angel!)

>DATE: 09/03/54 AFE 16:54:32<

Hux wouldn’t admit it, not even if he was standing before an execution squad, why he’d let Kylo Ren board his rescue shuttle while he was fleeing the Supremacy. The First Order was falling apart—the last remains of a once formidable fleet cracking into pieces and burning. The singled-out TIEs had dispersed in chaos, the Troopers and officers scrambling to find any remaining rescue pods.

Hux hadn’t stayed till the bitter end on the command bridge. He’d known when the fight was lost beyond hope. He shot a string of commands toward Kenney, a newly minted major, and with the excuse that he was going to consult the Supreme Leader, he walked hastily toward Kylo Ren’s chambers. Only he didn’t plan on reaching them—he dodged left and ran through the corridors to the docking port on the sixth floor, trying not to look conspicuous while avoiding the burning parts of the deck. 

He was about to launch, flipping the shuttle’s switches and booting up the system, when his personal comm pinged. He closed his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time for anything anymore— _time had ended for him._ _The First Order ended here._

When the comm pinged again he took a breath and looked at it.

Supreme Leader. Of course.

He gritted his teeth, wondering if he could ignore it, if Kylo Ren could even tell that Hux was still alive, if he could sense where Hux was. He was about to push back to launch, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He pressed his forehead to the cool steel console, telling himself to let go, to stop this madness, to not let his kriffing _infatuation_ , this obsession over Kylo Ren that he’d ordered himself years ago not to feel, overtake him.

He flipped the button on his comm to reveal a live holo-projection.

Kylo Ren’s large profile was displayed, with hair mussed and plastered to his face and one eye dark and glistening. Ren was under attack, or had been under attack, because there was fire in the background, all around him.

“Hux.” Ren’s voice was strangled. He looked into the comm, his face scrunched up, eyes totally mad. “Hux,” Ren repeated.

The projection cut out and Hux cursed. He unbuckled himself and left the shuttle without turning off the computers. He ran to Ren’s chambers as fast as he could, ignoring the mayhem around him. It was getting worse. The Supremacy was practically all in flames, the decks cracking and falling down, rails melting, everyone running around in a frenzy, searching for a means to evacuate. This time around there would be nothing left of the Supremacy to repair.

The door leading to the Supreme Leader’s chambers were ajar, flames raging everywhere, not unlike that time when Hux had entered Snoke’s throne room and everything was in shambles. This time Ren was conscious but injured and clearly in shock—not Hux’s favorite version of Ren. Injured, enraged, and panicked Kylo Ren was a threat to everyone in his vicinity. Still there was this _something_ in Ren that made Hux unable to leave him, every single time that he’d found Ren like this. So he grabbed Ren under his shoulder, hoisting him up, urging him to follow him back to the emergency shuttle.

They were almost too late. The shuttle managed to launch but couldn’t leave the fighting without being spotted. They were surrounded, and the rescue shuttle wasn’t a TIE-fighter able to do fast turns and fight back. The first hit just pushed them off course, but the second blow blasted the back compartment, leaving a gaping wound in the ship’s body. Ren was thrown into the back wall before the shuttle’s emergency dam closed off the decompressed part.

The shuttle was shaking and whining but Hux didn’t care—he had only one chance and he needed to risk everything he had if he wanted to live. He pushed the throttle up, as far as it would go, and prayed the shuttle’s structure could withstand the hyperspace jump.

There was nothing to be done after choosing one of the preprogrammed coordinates, nothing to be done about the course and possible outcome of the jump. Hux closed his eyes and gripped the handles of the pilot’s chair. He didn’t glance behind him to see if Ren had made it after the dam had closed off the hole in the rear of the shuttle. Kylo Ren could be sucked into vacuum as far as Hux was concerned.

>DATE: 09/03/54 AFE 23:17:14<

C-67, the small planet they had landed on—or, rather, crashed on, since the landing systems had been damaged—was white, white like Starkiller. And wasn’t that ironic for Hux to end up on a snowy globe with nothing around, not even trees, just white hills, white plains, white horizon. Even the pinkish sky around the planet was almost white, the nearest star’s dying flames not hot enough to melt the ice and snow. Hux hadn’t meant to direct the ship to C-67, but the shuttle was barely holding itself together, and he’d had no time to make a better selection. As it was, he had to regroup in a semi-safe place before moving on to the secure location he’d prepared in advance in case of disaster.

His safe hideout wasn’t even his by design. Hux had inherited the knowledge of some old Imperial hideouts from his father, and after Brendol’s death, Hux had made sure that the places hadn’t become known to anyone else. He’d started building his own network, too. If the shuttle hadn’t been hit he would have chosen one of his own safe houses, but they were all too far away.

Ren must have lost consciousness because he’d not made himself seen through the whole ordeal. After landing Hux finally looked behind himself to see Ren’s limp body on the floor, and he cursed. He was not dragging Ren through the snow. Not fucking _again_. He wasn’t strong enough for this; the last time he’d had the Troopers’ help. They couldn’t stay in the shuttle, though. The heating was failing already with the engines shut down, and they’d freeze in a matter of hours. Hux tapped the code sequence to open the trap door.

Strong wind blew snow inside in chilly waves. They had to get to the shelter, and fast. Hux could only hope that the coordinates were correct and that they’d landed only a few hundred meters from the evacuation bunker.

“Ren.” Hux stood over Ren’s still form. “Ren!”

When that didn’t work, he shook Ren’s shoulder. The cloth on Ren’s left sleeve was burned, revealing an ugly wound underneath. Hux grabbed Ren’s arm firmly where the flesh looked most injured and shook again.

Gasping in pain, Ren opened his eyes. Hux could see that Ren was mentally far away, and he wasn’t going to risk everything in the vicinity being affected by Ren’s blind fury as he came to his senses. He squeezed Ren’s arm again, digging his fingers into the wound. Ren’s eyes focused on Hux’s face and he opened his mouth, breathing hard. Good.

“Follow me,” Hux ordered, pulling Ren up. Even with Ren more or less conscious, it wasn’t easy to move. Hux grabbed the shuttle’s emergency supply bag; it had food rations and a basic first aid kit. As he made his way out of the shuttle, he had to make sure Ren followed, as hunched and slow as he was. Down on the ground the wind hit them with snow, making it almost impossible to walk or breathe. At least the wind-blown snow would cover not only their tracks but the ship itself. Perhaps this was why Hux’s father had prepared this location for himself as a hideout. Step by step they moved forward, progress slow and painful. Hux’s navigation was hopefully directing them to the nearby snowy dome of the bunker. The sun was almost down now; the sky had turned from pinkish white to violet and then to navy blue in a matter of seconds, and the temperature was dropping with every step they took.

Ren made a sound behind Hux, and when Hux turned to see what was that about, Ren was down on one knee, breathing raggedly, not able to move.

“Get up,” Hux said, even though he wouldn’t be heard over the howling wind and snow. “Up. Now.” And when Ren didn’t react he angrily shook him again. The snow was getting in Hux’s eyes, behind his collar, inside his sleeves. Ren was almost covered in it, too, his dark hair sprinkled with white, his eyebrows and eyelashes frosted.

Hux held two fingers in front of Ren’s face, trying to convey that they’d have to endure this walk through icy hell for two more minutes if the nav was right. Ren nodded and pulled himself up, using Hux’s body as leverage, and they pushed on through the wind and snow until they reached the dome. After some poking and prodding all around, Hux uncovered a pad with a bio-lock. He cleaned the snow and frost off it as well as he could, trying to ignore Ren, who was hunched so low he was practically sitting on the ground. After some punching, the pad finally activated, glowing dull green. Good. Hux placed his palm on it and waited, his heart banging and black spots dancing in front of his eyes. It had to work or they’d be doomed.

The lock whirled and then clicked, opening the sliding door with a horrid whine. Hux stumbled inside, pulled Ren behind him, and hit the button to seal themselves inside.

When the door shut, the lights flickered to life, and Hux breathed in the stale air of the bunker. He leaned down and put his palms on his knees, staring at the snow they’d tracked inside. He needed a moment to orient himself in time and space, a moment to evaluate this whole messed-up situation.

The First Order was no more. But Hux was alive and intended to stay that way. He just had to hide, lay low for a while. And he needed to…

He looked up at the sound of Ren sliding down the bunker’s wall, his heavy boots scratching the floor. Right, for now Hux needed to deal with the situation at hand.

“Come on,” he said to Ren, walking farther into the bunker.

The shelter was old and dusty. The food items on the shelves were clearly too old to be edible. Fuel canisters were placed in a neat row in the corner, but whether they contained enough fuel for the rescue shuttle to make the hyperspace jump to another location was doubtful. Provided they could fix their damaged shuttle, of course. From what Hux remembered about this planet from the schematics in Brendol’s files, there was an abandoned old operational base beyond the snowy mountains. He could perhaps go to that base to see if there were fuel stores there and tools and materials to fix the shuttle, but for now both he and Ren needed some rest. They’d have to stay put for at least a few days until Ren was healed enough to move, and until Hux could think of another plan.

Hux sighed and went on to explore the bunker more thoroughly. The items on the shelves were mostly useless metal spare parts for pieces of equipment no one in the Galaxy had use for anymore, and the food was all expired, but for now they had enough lyophilized nutrient meals packed in their emergency bag from the ship to last for a month or even longer. Water from a deep underground well was still running in the pipes when Hux turned the knob at the sink, so that was good, too. His hands shook when he leaned in to drink water straight from the tap. His whole body was shaking. The stims he’d been on were wearing off, and soon he’d crash. He didn’t have any more stims on his person, and he needed to tend to Ren before he collapsed.

He didn’t know where the med-compartments in the bunker were located or if the drugs inside had expired like the food. But they had the medical supplies in the bag Hux had brought from the ship. He went back to the entrance to collect the med kit. Ren was lying on the floor by the door. He had either lost consciousness again, or had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

“Kriff, Ren. Move your _fucking_ legs.” Hux was so angry at Ren’s lack of… endurance, or survival instinct, that he managed to hoist him up with the last of his own strength and place him on a cot. Hux’s spine would get its revenge on Hux later, that was sure.

Ren batted at Hux’s hand when he tried to remove Ren’s clothing to look at the wounds. “Stay still,” Hux said through his teeth.

“Leave me.” These were the first words that Ren had spoken since he’d commed Hux. His voice was rough and strained. He sounded… resigned. Sad.

Hux didn’t have patience to argue with Ren about the necessity of tending to his injuries, so he just pushed Ren back on the cot. He wasn’t above hitting Ren in the face if he kept making things more difficult for Hux.

The fabric of Ren’s tunic was melted into the burns on his side and arm, and there was no way to remove it without tearing the flesh. Hux rummaged through the supply bag and administered a shot of painkillers to Ren. He wished he had more of those, but only two more doses were available, so he had to ration them carefully for Ren over the next couple of days.

When Ren finally stopped thrashing and straining under Hux’s grip, and just lay back, watching Hux with his black, shiny eyes, breathing shallowly, Hux got to work. He cut the sleeve with his knife, bit by bit, removing the fabric from the wounds as gently as he could. He exposed a large area of damage on Ren’s arm and left side. This was a kind of burn that would need serious bacta treatment, optimally in a med-pod. Instead, they had only basic patches, with a thin layer of bacta, that would take _days_ to work, and only one dose of multipurpose antibiotics. Ren would survive, but he was going to be in a significant amount of pain for the foreseeable future, and the tissue on his left arm was burned deep enough that he might have trouble with movement later on.

Well, there was nothing Hux could do about it now. He cleaned the wounds as best as he could, wrapped them tightly in bacta patches, gave Ren the shot of antibiotics, and then forced him to drink a whole container of water.

He left Ren on the cot, covered with a thick and heavy blanket from Imperial times. It smelled like Brendol’s uniforms, and Hux shook his head in disgust. There was only one cot, but he found a bedroll and spread it by the opposite wall. He almost collapsed on it, his legs finally giving way under him and his whole body shutting down as if he were a droid without an energy source.

>DATE: 10/03/54 AFE 04:57:08<

Hux woke up disoriented, reaching for his blaster in panic, aiming at nothing. He was unbearably cold and every bit of his body hurt—every single muscle, his throat, his head, his stomach. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. His side was _burning_. There was nothing anymore in this life for him, just black, black, black matter, sucking his soul out, tearing him apart and scraping at his insides.

“Shit,” Hux gasped, and crawled on his hands and knees to Ren’s cot.

This had happened before. This was Ren dreaming, or half-dreaming, hurt and projecting his inner turmoil. Hux could live with pain: he was used to it from his childhood; to the pain that came with a beating; the chemicals in the polluted air burning his lungs; ship sickness that would attack muscles and brain; and with being hungry for days and days, until his stomach hurt all the time. But Hux couldn’t deal with the emotional hell that Ren was projecting, and whenever Ren was half-lucid, sedated after a more serious injury from Snoke’s training, Hux would try to stay as far from Ren as he could, and put his mental barriers on, so as not to give in to the despair, anger, and agony of Ren projecting his emotions. Had Hux lived in such permanent torture-land as Ren had, he would have ended himself a long time ago. To persist in misery this immense was unthinkable. Perhaps this was another reason why Hux both hated and admired Ren so much—for the strength, both physical and emotional, despite all Ren’s hysterics.

Hux grabbed the painkilling shot from the bag and injected it into Ren’s shoulder. It contained a low grade sedative too, so soon Ren’s dreams, or thoughts, or whatever that was, calmed, and Hux could breathe normally again.

Hux couldn’t tell why he was always so affected whenever Ren broadcast his emotions like that. Other medical staff had been hit with it too, but not to the same level as Hux. He wondered what made him a living radar of Ren’s turmoil. Perhaps he was sensitive in a special way, or perhaps he was tuned in to Ren because of his obsession with him.

Hux sat on the concrete floor next to the cot, shaking from cold and adrenaline. He wasn’t sure where his sensations ended and Ren’s started, but he felt like the whole world was collapsing on him. What was the point of even surviving if the First Order no longer existed? What would Hux do? Where could he go? And what could he do about Ren? Hux wanted to growl at himself for taking Ren with him. Ren was a liability. A walking disaster of a man. A moody, spoiled New Republic Prince.

He was Hux’s only weakness.

>DATE: 10/03/54 AFE 09:20:18<

When Hux woke up again he was still in a lot of pain. But this time he was quite sure that it wasn’t Ren’s broadcast but Hux’s own sensations. He was shaking, but not only because he was cold. He was also nauseated, his head was spinning, his throat was dry, his muscles howling in pain. His head was pounding. He _itched_.

He wanted to crawl into a hole and let the world forget about him.

_He wanted to stop existing._

And he desired it with that kind of horrid certainty that always came with the lack of stimulants in his blood. He hadn’t functioned without them for a long time now. Years, really. Normally he’d have a shot and wait it out until the symptoms of withdrawal waned, but he didn’t have any stims. He couldn’t use the painkillers that Ren needed more than him, either.

“Hux.” Ren’s voice was rough.

Hux lifted his head and then turned to look at Ren. Moving his head an inch was a chore. His neck was stiff and it hurt to swallow. The bunker’s light, even dimmed to ten percent, was way too bright and painful for his eyes. He didn’t feel like moving, but he should at least check Ren’s temperature to see if the antibiotics had worked and there was no infection.

“Fuck,” he whined while pulling himself up from the floor. His muscles hurt as if someone had broken Hux on the rack. He leaned over Ren and placed his hand on Ren’s cheek to see if his skin was hot to the touch.

When he looked at Ren’s face, gritting his teeth because even small movements hurt, he saw that Ren was observing him, his dark eyes curious and more lucid than before. Hux had always known that Ren wasn’t quite sane; there was something fundamentally wrong with him, regardless of the rage, Snoke’s trainings, and his hysterical ways. But then there were moments of strange serenity within the storm of Ren’s emotions, and that’s when he seemed sharp, pensive and deep, like now. And Hux hated him for that.

He hated Ren for so many things. He’d hated Ren with all his might from the very first day they met in Snoke’s throne room. He despised himself even more for desiring Ren since that very first day, too.

Hux knew how awful he must look now—with pale, almost green skin, ruffled hair, split lips, dark circles under his eyes. He was disheveled from dragging Ren, shivering and feverish from the lack of stims in his body, and most probably resembled the undead more than a human. And Ren, even beaten down, injured, sick and dirty, was still _glorious_. Hux hated Ren for that, too.

“What do you want?” he barked at Ren.

“It’s cold. I’m cold.”

“And what would you like me to do about it? This place has only so much climate control.”

However he straightened up and went to rummage through the chests and shelves in search of more blankets or maybe even an ancient heating pad. His hands were shaking more and more. His stomach cramped and the blinding pain in his head was killing him. Oh, how he wanted a stim.

He exhaled. For a moment there he’d been ready to walk out of this bunker, get on the shuttle, and try his luck in an expedition through the mountains, because if someone had lived there, on the abandoned base in this snowy hell, they must have been using uppers to keep going on. Maybe they’d left some behind.

The containers in the back of the bunker were stuffed with old protein rations, most probably rotten and full of fungus. There were also boxes full of old Imperial propaganda on flimsy discs that made Hux sneer at the sheer inelegance of the materials. Another chest contained blankets, and Hux took two of those scratchy gray heavy pieces of fabric. They smelled intensely of mold, but Hux wasn’t going to be picky.

At the bottom of the chest with blankets was a small metal box. Hux took it and opened the latch. Inside there were three injection pens lined in a row. They were labeled “A-GRE8-7” with two yellow stripes on each side. Hux remembered them from his childhood. They had given those to officers who’d been heavily injured, in order to ease the pain. Hux had heard those officers pleading for “Aces” later, when they’d grown dependent on the drug. But neither he nor Ren should be in danger of using too much. After all they didn’t have more than those three pens.

Hux took the blankets and the box with “Aces” back to the cot.

“Lay back,” he said when he saw Ren trying to sit up. “Let me see the bacta-patches. I bet they’ve dried up by now and you need new ones.”

There was a tense silent moment, when Hux unwrapped Ren’s side. Ren looked the other way and didn’t even glance when Hux tended to him. The burns looked a bit better, but the bacta patches were too thin and slow to mend Ren’s flesh in a painless way. Hux carefully applied additional bacta gel on the worst looking parts and wrapped Ren up again.

“There,” he said.

Ren looked pale and there was sweat forming on his forehead. He was clearly in a lot of pain. Hux cursed and went back to the box that he’d found. He took the injection pens and went back to the cot.

“I don’t need that.” Ren shook his head when he saw Hux holding the shots.

“Like hell you don’t.” Hux was annoyed and in a lot of pain himself, and watching Ren squirming wasn’t his idea of a calming view.

“I don’t.” Ren pushed himself up, winced, and collapsed back on the cot, wincing again when his bad side touched the blanket. “I’m used to pain.”

“So am I,” Hux muttered. “But I don’t need you getting angry and projecting your hysterics onto me. I need… Fuck, Ren, I need to rest and come up with an idea of what to do next, and I can’t think clearly when you’re thrashing around and whining.”

He took the pen, unscrewed the safety cap, and then placed the injector to Ren’s wrist. He smiled at the thought that he might have made a mistake and that it was some kind of poisonous liquid. Oh, wouldn’t it be ironic?

He pushed the release button.

For a moment there was no effect, and Hux thought that maybe the drugs had expired and lost their potency. But then Ren took a deeper breath, and on the exhale he visibly relaxed, his face losing its tense expression. When Ren opened his eyes they were a bit unfocused, but clearly he felt better.

“Oh,” Ren said. “This is nice.”

Hux snorted. “I bet. It’s an old Imperial narcotic. People used to kill for that shit. Don’t get used to it, we only have two more doses.”

Ren was watching Hux and suddenly smiled. “You’re sooo cute, Hux.”

Hux almost choked. Anger boiled inside of him, laced with unwanted fear, a feeling deep in Hux’s guts that always came with being called “cute” or “pretty,” because what could follow was potentially violent and dangerous for him. At the same time he was overcome by a traitorous, pleasant heat at being called anything by Ren, at being _noticed_ by Ren.

He swallowed. “I am not _cute_. Fuck off.”

Ren grinned. He looked like a lunatic. He was one. He extended his hand to paw at Hux’s face.

Hux recoiled. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

His face was burning and his gut clenched again at the possibility of Ren making contact with him. He’d suffered pain from Ren before multiple times. Even if his body was confused and _craved the pain_ , it didn’t mean that Hux had gone insane and would allow it. Even if he desired it.

Ren had the audacity to look offended. “But you want this, Hux. I can sense that.”

“You can sense shit, Ren,” Hux said, and batted at Ren’s hand that was currently buried in Hux’s hair. Kriff, did it feel good to have it there. Despite being a brute and a monster, Ren was so fucking _gentle_. “You’re high. And I’ve got a headache and am in no mood for your antics.”

“You…” Ren waved his hand in front of Hux. Hux was lucky he didn’t get slapped in the face. “You should take a shot, too. I can feel that you are in pain. You’re projecting.”

“ _I’m_ projecting?” Hux shouted, pushing himself up. His muscles howled in pain and he was hit with a headache-induced vertigo so sudden he had to bend down so he wouldn’t throw up. Black spots danced in front of his eyes.

Ren turned his head and smiled. His teeth were irregular, his mouth so different when he smiled. Hux wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ren smiling, certainly not in a happy, not-cruel way.

“You should, Hux. It makes _everything_ go away.”

And for sure Ren did look relaxed.

And Hux hurt.

Ren was right. He needed this.

“Yes, Hux.” Ren waved again. “You need this.”

Hux wanted to tell himself that it was the compulsion coming from Ren’s use of the Force and not his own craving that made him succumb to the urge. But as he positioned the second injector on his arm and pulled the trigger, he knew better.

And, fuck, was Ren right. Whatever the Imperial drugs had in them was potent and way nicer than any of the sedatives or stims Hux had used daily over the last few years. Usually stims would give him a jolt to the nervous system, leaving him with a dry mouth, itchy skin, and a slight tremor in his hands. The sedatives he used to calm down enough to sleep when he needed to make the best of his rest cycle were like a black cloak, making him dizzy, groggy, and tired without the relaxation the medication was supposed to provide.

This was different. This felt like warmth spreading inside of Hux’s veins, swirling and reaching every nerve ending in his body. The pain waned, the world blurred slightly, and he didn’t feel despair and tension anymore. He was… good. His fingers tingled pleasantly and the knot in his stomach loosened. He exhaled, feeling the gentle caress of the air as it left his lungs and throat.

“See?” Ren said, and pulled Hux on top of him. Surprised, Hux lost his balance and fell onto Ren. Their faces were very close. Ren’s eyes were a very warm amber, like Brendol’s whiskey.

“Don’t,” Hux said, as Ren pushed his hand in Hux’s disheveled hair, tucking it behind Hux’s ear. “No,” he said when Ren licked his lips.

His own body wasn’t following Hux’s orders, though, and in the end it was Hux who leaned in to close the distance between him and Ren.

Hux had always thought of kisses as something sentimental and stupid—something that only spoiled and bored decadent New Republic residents could do. He’d imagined kisses as wet and disgusting and for some reason unpleasantly cold. But this kiss wasn’t cold, nor unpleasant at all. It ignited a fire inside of Hux that he hadn’t thought he was capable of feeling. He should be repulsed—he was repulsed. He hated Ren. But he couldn’t deny that he desired him, too. So he let the kiss go on.

Ren fisted Hux’s hair and pulled, making Hux break the kiss. They observed each other, panting. Hux was getting hard, and this should be embarrassing, but whatever was in the “Ace” drug made him careless. He felt good. His mind was drifting in peacefulness, his body was light and pain-free. He wanted Ren.

Ren pulled on his hair harder and Hux moaned. He didn’t object when Ren flipped them over and pinned Hux to the bed. He didn’t care if Ren had torn his bacta wrappings. The patches should hold anyway.

Ren leaned down and kissed Hux again, and then again, angrily biting Hux’s lips. Hux bit back and only the revolting thought of having Ren’s blood in his mouth made him stop biting before breaking Ren’s skin. They were rutting against each other now, crazed and mindless, with Ren’s huge hand wrapped tightly around Hux’s neck. And Hux should be afraid—he’d been choked by Ren before—but he didn’t care, he didn’t mind that. In fact he liked it, loved it, wanted it, wanted to feel all the pain and all the pleasure. He wanted _everything_.

He didn’t even notice when he started coming; the drugs made the time stretch and loop, so he was coming at one time and then not in the next moment, and then coming again. It was so pleasurable it was almost painful, and tears spilled from the corners of Hux’s eyes.

Ren’s body was hard and solid over Hux’s, his weight crushing him.

He was suffocating. The air was being pushed out of his lungs and he was dying, the blackness taking him under.

“Hux,” he heard and opened his eyes.

Ren’s smile was sweet and manic at the same time, and Hux shuddered with fear and pleasure as Ren leaned down, opening his mouth. He licked at Hux’s cheeks—like a canine—once and then again, wiping away the moisture on Hux’s skin.

This was monstrous and disgusting, but Hux didn’t complain. They had water in the bunker and he could clean himself up later, so he could allow Ren to lap at his tears for now if Ren desired to.

After a while, though, Hux got cold, so he pushed Ren slightly off him and reached for the blankets that had fallen on the floor. Between the two of them they managed to spread the blankets out and settle together on the narrow cot, maybe not comfortably, but bearably enough to sleep. The drugs were still flowing in Hux’s veins, making him drift off and wake up over and over again. Their effects would wane soon, but for now he was warm and cozy, and free of any responsibilities. He pushed his face in the small space between Ren’s shoulder and chin and inhaled. Ren smelled of sweat, of burned clothes, of mold from the blankets, and bacta. It was sickening and oddly comforting.

Hux wished he could stay like this forever, in this dusty, cold bunker, buried alive under mountains of snow. After all, there was no future for him, and none for Ren either.

But he’d think about that later.

He let his eyes close.


End file.
